The Royal Decree
by fadedmystery
Summary: She leans her head on his shoulder,and the lavender scent of her hair is enough to drive him crazy and make him realize that he is in love with her,royal decree and blood relations be damned.Funny,really,what the scent of hair can do to a man's heart.


So, here is another Peter/Susan fic...it's been sitting in my computer for some time now, before I finally decided to put it up. This is part of a compilation of short stories that I have, and when I reread this, I realized that it could also fit as a Peter/Susan story, so I altered a few things. This is also somewhat of a prologue to A Good Night's Sleep, and the usual things apply: Don't like the themes, then don't read, but for those who do, enjoy!

**The Royal Decree**

It is not a common fixture around Cair Paravel to see the eldest queen perturbed or hysterical. To see the queen irritated at the High King, however, is.

Like now, for instance.

She enters the throne room in furious strides, her pace quick and the slight train of her dress billowing behind her. Her expression is livid as her gaze falls on him, and when he notices, he sits up straighter in his throne, and rearranges his crown that has been placed askew, watching her.

_"You!"_ Her tone is as furious as her expression as she steps into the dais of the thrones. He stands and raises an eyebrow.

"Something the matter, Susan?" His tone is cool, but there is an amused twinkling in his eyes that only adds fuel to her ire.

"Yes, _your majesty_, something is the matter!" And with that she proceeds to prod his chest as hard as she can. "How dare you—did you think you could just—makes you think you had the right—who on earth do you think you are?"

Peter merely blinks at her for a few moments before a small smile curves his lips. "I'm the King of Narnia."

Susan pauses momentarily before snapping, "Well, besides that!"

His infuriating smile is still there. "I'm the eldest among the four of us."

She narrows her eyes dangerously and practically bares her fangs. "But that doesn't give you the right to rule over my life!"

He shrugs. "Sure it does. I'm High King, remember?"

Oh, if only looks could kill…Susan rests her hands on her waist and gives him a deep glare. "You had no right. No right at all, Peter!"

Peter gives her a patronizing pat on the shoulder, looking at her almost pityingly. "You know, Susan, I appreciate that you're wasting your energy on my behalf. But," he cocks his head inquisitively. "You still haven't told me what you're so mad about."

"This!" And with that she brandishes a piece of parchment in front of him, almost throwing it. He takes the paper and eyes move as he quickly scans the document. After a moment, he looks back at her blankly.

"Well," he finally says. "I don't see the problem. No problem at all."

"No problem?" she practically explodes, "I'll tell you the problem, Peter! It's--"

"What's going on here?" Edmund's voice says as he enters the throne room, Lucy in tow. The latter takes one look at the older pair and rolls her eyes.

"They're arguing again. I knew it." She gives them a pointed stare. "I could hear the both of you from the end of the hall."

"We're not arguing," Peter corrects her, his pleasant tone and expression the exact opposite of Susan's livid one. "Susan here is merely stating her latest complaint against me."

"And just as well!" Susan exclaims, "After all, did you really expect me to play the meek lamb to the fact that you just signed a decree declaring me old enough to be eligible for marriage?"

"You did what?" Edmund and Lucy say in incredulous unison. Peter doesn't even blink.

"Yes, I did." He shrugged. "So what?"

"So what? Peter, you know what will happen when the other countries get wind of this!" Susan exclaims wildly. "They're going to be coming here in droves, each of them asking for my hand! Think of the disturbance, of the annoyance all those suitors are going to"

"Oh honestly," Petter scoffs. "Suitors coming here in droves for you? I doubt it. You know, you shouldn't think so highly of yourself all the time, Susan. It isn't very attractive."

She gapes at him.

"Should I get my cordial now?" Lucy whispers to Derek. "Or should I wait until she makes a grab for his neck first?"

He merely snickers.

Susan finally recovers. "Peter, will you just--"

"Susan, listen," Peter cuts her off, his tone stating that he is clearly tired of this argument. "That document is merely formality, nothing more. As High King, I have to sign it--it's the law, and it's apparently been done for ages. It doesn't mean that I'll marry you off to the first suitor who comes here laden with jewels."

"Still," she insists, tone still furious. "Honestly, Peter, I know we've had our disagreements, but do you really hate me so much to do this? I don't care what you said about it being formality--you're practically auctioning me off like a horse to the highest bidder!"

"A very expensive horse," Peter corrects her, tilting his head almost condescendingly.

"How dare--" she huffs, then changes her mind, for her next words are different. "Anyway, why haven't I heard of this kind of document for you?" she asks, eyes narrowed. "You're a year older than I am—if I'm old enough, then you jolly well should be too!"

"Oh, I am," Peter replies nonchalantly. "And I've received private audiences with kings eager to marry off their daughters to the High King of Narnia," he rolls his eyes, and under her breath, Susan mutters, "I can't imagine why," before he continues. "The only thing is, the law only requires this kind of written, formal decree for the female royals."

"Misogynistic pig," Susan mutters under her breath.

"What was that?" he asks, eyes twinkling again.

"Nothing," she replies sourly.

One look at his expression and it is plain to see that he is very, very amused. "Alright then," he says, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Now, if you feel that you've made enough of a fool out of yourself already, then you may leave."

"Did you—did you just order me?" Susan snaps, bristling as she gives him an incredulous look. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Sure I can." He shrugs again, echoing his previous words. "Like I said, I'm High King, remember?"

"Urgh!" Susan pairs her exclamation of angry annoyance with a glare of deepest loathing before turning on her heel and walking away. As she leaves, Peter turns to his two younger siblings, who seem torn between exasperation and amusement.

"She doesn't like me very much right now, does she?"

His younger brother's reply is short and sarcastic. "You think?"

..--..

He really did want to apologize to her. Honest.

However, right now, as he watches Susan giggle triumphantly (she must be really mad then, he concludes--she never giggles) at the sight of him sputtering indignantly from the murky lake he has oh-so unfortunately fallen into, apologizing has suddenly become the last thing he wants to do.

"Everything alright, Peter?" Susan asks, blinking innocently up at him with seemingly guiltless doe eyes.

He mutters something in an incomprehensible language as he steps out of the lake, clothes drenched, hair matted to his dirty forehead, boots splashing mud as he does so. Susan lazily uncrosses her arms, leaning against the tree trunk, a small, vindicated smile playing with the corners of her mouth.

"I asked you a question. It isn't polite to answer with silence." She flicks a glance at him, the smile slowly morphing into a smirk. "I'll ask again: Is everything alright, Peter? You seem a little…wet."

"Very funny, Susan," he says darkly, shaking off the weeds and grime that has scattered all over his once regal outfit. "Pushing me in the lake How very mature of you."

She grins the grin of one who knows that justice has been served. "I know," she replies. "After all, you always have praised my level of maturity, haven't you?"

"Susan…" he warns.

Her tone is as innocent as ever. "Yes?"

"This is revenge, isn't it? For signing that decree," he says accusingly. "You're getting me back for that, aren't you?"

"Oh, bravo!" Susan claps, her tone mocking. "The great and wise king has finally gotten that through his head! Quick, let's all celebrate!"

"I came here to tell you I was sorry!" he snaps. "I still don't get why you're so worked up, but being a good person, I decided to apologize anyway. You didn't have to push me in the lake!"

"I thought your apology needed something extra." She gives a delicate shrug of her shoulders. "After all…you did this without asking me first. You didn't even find the common courtesy to tell me, I had to find out from other people! Look at it this way, Peter: You threw me into the beginning of a mess, the least I can do is throw you into the lake."

"But what if I had drowned, or hit my head?" he argues.

"Would that have been so bad?" Her retort is a spoken musing. "The lake isn't deep, and even if it were, you know how to swim. If you had hit your head….well, at least you might recover the brain cells you lost a long time ago."

"You--" Peter suddenly stops, and Susan moves from the tree and involuntarily takes a step back. There is a glint in his eyes again, one that she has learned long to associate with something bad, at least for her. Uh-oh.

"You know it doesn't seem fair," Peter says slowly as he takes a step towards her. Susan takes a step, but unconsciously moves nearer to the other side of the lake.

"O-oh?" Susan's confidence falters a bit as she takes another step. When Peter has that look in his eyes, he seems capable of doing anything. "How--how so?"

"Well," he says, tone still slow as he takes another step, eyes still glinting. "Here I am, all drenched and dirty from the lake, while you're here, dry and clean. It doesn't seem…even." Another step. "And you know how much I value equality." Another step. Susan is much too close now. "And I believe," he says, "That equality should be practiced in every situation, don't you think?"

And in the next instant, Susan is splashing wildly in the lake, glaring daggers at him through the veil of her soaked hair.

"Satisfied?" she gasps.

The grin doesn't leave his face. "Very much so." He tilts his head, as though appraising her. "I must say, Susan, that drenched dog look of yours seems rather…fetching."

"Fetching? I'll show you fetching!" she snaps as she quickly scrambles out of the lake and makes a beeline for him. Instantly he begins to run and they begin a cat and mouse chase that starts with them yelling at each other and ends up with the both of them laughing hysterically, all anger forgotten.

The guards of Cair Paravel are polite enough to ignore the disheveled state of the two elder majesties as they finally enter some time later, dripping water and mud all over the marble floor, faces flushed yet full of laughter.

..--..

Narnia is cloaked with a black silk of night, and there is nothing to be heard except for the chirping of the more nocturnal creatures. The breeze is quiet and cool, and even the seas are steady. It is the dead of night, and all is calm.

But there, in the large, looming castle that is Cair Paravel, there is one on whom the sandman's magic has failed to work its wonders upon. There is only one lone candle that shines in the grand chamber, and on the bed, Susan sits, the covers thrown about and a frustrated expression on her face.

_I shouldn't…no…._she thinks, and yet her gaze cannot help but stray to the imposing mahogany doors. She has long since given up on sleep, and has been having this internal debate for quite awhile, and half of her fears that if she continues on, she might go mad.

She cannot sleep with too many thoughts in her mind.

With a sigh, her rational side loses the battle. She dons her robe and fastens the sash securely. Taking her candle with her, she proceeds to leave her bedroom. She has no particular destination, and she isn't even entirely sure what she's doing, but all she knows is that she needs time to just think…

She pauses momentarily when she reaches Peter's bedroom door. There is a slight crack in the door, and, overcome by something she can't quite place, she takes a peek. The room isn't entirely dark, and she can see the shadow of the High King breathing soundly. For a moment she is tempted to open the door, but her rational side, as though punishing her for losing the earlier battle, stops her. And so she walks on.

Her feet somehow lead her to the garden. It isn't entirely dark there, even though her candle has long since snuffed out. With a sigh, she takes her seat on the marble bench, breathing in the night air as her eyes close, allowing herself to get lost in her thoughts.

"Can't sleep?" a masculine voice says suddenly after a few moments. Susan's train of thought is immediately broken, and her head snaps up and turns to find Peter walking out of the shadows, his expression a little drowsy, but awake all the same.

"What're you doing here?" she asks. "I thought you were asleep." _I saw you asleep_, she says silently in her mind. But she would never tell him that.

"I woke up," he replies simply as he sits down next to her. She turns away from him and proceeds to stare at the dark scenery before them. He doesn't mind, for it gives him an opportunity to look at her.

Susan has always been beautiful, even when they had been young children. He would never admit it to anyone, but she has always been fascinating to him, and not just in ways that could be considered brotherly, either. He had never met anyone more infuriating, more prim and proper, and yet lately, he couldn't stop thinking about her.

_And when she smiles_…Peter groans inwardly to himself. He'd been confident, secure in the knowledge that whatever he'd felt for her was strictly brotherly…but the moment he'd first read the decree, wherein he had flatly told his advisers, "No," and, at the end, signed the parchment with almost shaking hands, he had known that something had changed.

"I don't want to leave Narnia," she says suddenly, breaking the silence and thus allowing Peter to snap back into reality before he embarrasses himself.

"Susan…" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"I love this place, and I don't think I can ever imagine leaving it. Leaving Lucy, Edmund…" _Leaving you,_ she says silently in her head.

"What about me? Won't you miss me?" he gives her a mock-hurt expression. "After all we've been through…"

"Well," she says slowly. "When you put it that way…" Her smile is mischievous. "No."

"Very well then," he says, his tone teasingly serious. "If you feel that way, then I guess I'll just have to hand you over to King Ramalin's son. After all, I've heared that he's been very anxious to have you for a daughter-in-law."

"King Ramalin's son is only ten!" she exclaims, narrowing her eyes.

"I know," he shrugs. "It makes you feel old, doesn't it?"

"You…you…" Susan breathes a large sigh. "Are we honestly arguing? In the middle of the night?"

"You started it."

"I did not."

"Yes you--oh for heaven's sake," he says, rolling his eyes. There is silence for a few moments before he speaks, smiling slightly. "Have we ever had a conversation that didn't end up with us arguing at some point?"

She doesn't miss a beat. "Never," she replies. Her smile matches his own. "But then again, we wouldn't really be…us if we never fought."

"True," he agreed. By an overwhelming urge of boldness or by a sudden bout of stupidity, he takes Susan's hand and entwines it with his own. She looks up, surprised, but he is relieved when she doesn't pull away. They try convincing themselves in one last desperate act that the sets of actions are platonic, with no emotion other than sibling love infused in them, but in the back of their minds, they both privately acknowledge that that particular battle has long since been lost. Still, she leans her head on his shoulder, and the lavender scent of her hair is almost enough to drive him crazy.

And in that one instant, he finally realizes that he is in love with her.

Funny, really, what the scent of hair can do to a man's heart.

"Don't worry, Susan," he tells her, holding her hand tighter, almost possessively. "Narnia won't be losing their queen for a very, very, long time. Trust me."

Royal decree be damned. After all, it is only a piece of paper. It cannot dictate lives, and it certainly cannot dictate feelings.

It is only formality, a rule. And every rule always has an exception.


End file.
